It is, as often happens here, an unusually mild day on which to welcome winter. We may see seventy damp, balmy degrees this afternoon, though in weeks past we have already had our first hard-bitten breath of cold; heavy frosts in the mornings following bitter nights. Though I’ve lived here most of my life, and I know the chill will return, I feel unsettled by this unseasonable warmth just before Christmas, a little restless and displeased that it looks more like soggy early April than a holiday card outside my window.
I am also unsurprised but a little rueful that so many of my self-care practices have slipped as the holiday has approached. Too many days have been fueled on coffee rather than water, my yoga mat is undisturbed, rolled behind the gift wrap that has taken over the guest room, and I’ve found myself here in this space less and less.
On the days when I have remembered to breathe, to eat protein before lunchtime, to find a lens or pen, I have felt much more settled into my spirit. But it is true that more days have been frayed by the too muches and too littles of being a mother at Christmas.
It is all right. Even as I make my lists for the next few days, and plug in the colored lights and make space for one more craft project, one more batch to taste, I know these decorated and glittered days are brief as they are bright. I’m trying to enter into them fully, joyously, knowing there is no such thing as perfectly ready, balanced or prepared. There is only this messy and glorious oasis in the darkest days, around the wreath, around the tree.
Even as we are still making ready, the slow turn toward the light begins. With those longer days will come the spare after-Christmas house, the reclaimed hours and projects and plans taken again into ready hands.
But now, I just want to say yes. Yes, and hello. To the small full hours right now. Today.
Happily joining in with daily prompts
for December with other good folks